Sunday, June 1, 2014

Dear World, I am a freak. A crazy person.

This entry is not directly related to my art. I'm sharing it here because I want this blog to be about my whole self, and lately it's been much more like one big long advertisement because I'm avoiding sharing this side of my life that I dislike. But, now that I've been doing this "magazine journaling" thing, I think it's time to open up...

I have what can best be described as agoraphobia. I'll
explain what that is in a moment, but first let me explain panic attacks. If
you've had one, you know, they're the worst thing ever. If you haven't, the
best way I can explain one is with this situation: You're taking a stroll down
the street. Lalala, birds are tweeting and whatnot. And maybe you're not
looking where you're going and -woops, you've stepped off a cliff. Suddenly,
you are plummeting to your doom. You know death is coming quick and you're
frantically looking around for something to save you. You're falling so fast
that you can't make sense of anything around you. You've lost track of which
direction is up. All you know is that you are definitely doomed. This is it.

But, there's no cliff.

It's just that sensation. That primal fear that struck you
out of nowhere. Why? I don't know.
People who have one for the first time (and often still the tenth or hundredth
time) are convinced that they're having a heart attack or a brain aneurism or
something, because it's human nature to try to make sense of things. If you
suddenly feel like you're dying (or fainting, or going crazy), then something
must actually be wrong, right? Well, in t his case, apparently not. I've been
told by many self-help books and therapists that no one has ever died or gone
crazy from a panic attack. But, that doesn't really change the fact that every
damn time I have one, which is sometimes 10 times a day for the past 16 years,
I am wholly convinced that this time, it's actually happening, I'm dying.

So, I started having panic attacks at the age of 14. For a
few years I'd just have one every few months, and then around 17 or 18 they
started coming more often, and, like anyone who is experiencing something
highly unpleasant, I started looking for ways to avoid them. If I had one when
a certain song was on the radio, that song would become a trigger. The next
time it came on, I'd turn the radio off in order to avoid it sparking another
panic attack. Then, it was places. If I had a panic attack at a certain store,
I'd just never go to that store again. Even when I knew it wasn't the place that had anything to do with why the panic
started, I'd still have a yucky feeling every time I came near. Kind of like
when you see someone from high school and you don't remember their name or why
you even know them, but you're just sure you don't like them. As you might
guess, the list of places to avoid grew and grew...

Anyhow, the avoidance is where the agoraphobia came from. I
think the word Agora came from the names of greeting places in ancient Greece
or something. So, etymologically, it
means a fear of places. Or open places. Something like that. I don't know how
the dictionary defines it, but I know that it's fairly common, among panickers
like myself, to get stuck in this bubble of a "comfort zone". I've
dug myself into this hole and climbed out of it a couple times now, but at the
moment, I'm in deeper than I've ever been before. For over a year now, I've
struggled every time I had to leave the house. I've missed a lot of things.
I've let my driver's license lapse and started shopping for most things I need
online. And I feel a lot of shame about this. I'm fighting myself all the time-
I want to get myself places, yet I am also the person keeping me from getting
there. It's no wonder I feel like a crazy person. It's like having 2
personalities!

But, I am an intelligent, logical (when not panicked),
driven human being. I am tired of keeping this secret and just letting people
think I'm a flake. I'm not going to let shame complicate my already messy
situation. I didn't ask for this, and I'm fighting as hard as I can all the
time. I'm consumed by it, so I'm not going to keep avoiding writing about it or
blurring it out in my journals that I share here. I'm going to be open. I'm
going to ask for your support and understanding, and I'm going to be OK if you
don't give it to me, too.

I'm an agoraphobe, but I am not a freak, and I'm not crazy,
and I'm going to get better. I hope you'll join me on the journey.

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